


loveless

by kokuhaku



Series: loveless [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuhaku/pseuds/kokuhaku
Summary: Glimpses of a marriage to Kylo Ren





	1. loveless

I. _loveless_

321 days. Every morning she wakes, she takes mental note of how long it’s been. How long it’s been since she’s felt the crisp air of her hometown. How long it’s been since she’s visited her mother’s grave. How long it’s been since she spat in her father’s face before being taken away. As she goes down the list, she dreads reaching last. The final one grounds her reality, reminds her of the position that she’s in. The long days trapped in this room. Exchanging vows with a man she doesn’t love, a man who doesn’t even know what it means to love.

 Just thinking his name sends her thoughts into a frantic mess. How did she get here? How could this have happened? 321 days. She didn’t think she’d make it this far. But with each day that passes she finds herself not accepting, but settling into this fate. She has no family to turn to, no friends to find comfort in. She only has him.

And she can't stand him.

She glares at his back, his sleeping form right in front of her. She considers wrapping her hands around his throat. Considers smothering him with a pillow. If she had a weapon she could make it quick, but he leaves her in this room with nothing but the bare essentials.

An involuntary shiver travels down her spine. This room is always so cold, so lifeless. Like him. And yet, she scoots closer to him for warmth. Whether it be mentally or physically, he has a tight hold on her. And as much as she hates to admit, it isn’t always by his force. 321 days. It’s been 321 days since her marriage to Kylo Ren.


	2. scar

II. _scar_

“I heard you thinking of smothering me. Again.”

Kylo turns to face her, his shifting weight sliding her closer to him. She looks up at him, her lips parted as if she were going to respond but it ends in a gasp as he places his hand on her throat. Unlike her, he doesn’t have to use both hands. He could snap her neck right there, ending her life with ease.

“If you have something to say to me, say it.”

His grip starts to tighten. Despite her resistance, her body trembles under him. She shakes her head, keeping her eyes on him and she’s unsure if it’s because he’s making her do it or because she doesn’t want to anger him any further. He holds her stare for another agonizing minute before swiftly leaving the bed, and she’s left coughing for air. Her hands go to her neck, skin burning from his touch. He’s already in the bathroom, door closed and water running. She lets out a faint whine, mentally kicking herself for being so reckless. Almost a year into the marriage and she’s still careless around him.

Her fingers instinctively circle around the crescent shaped scar on her left arm, a reminder of what happened when she raised her voice at him for the first and last time. It was a week after their vows, she was still bubbling with fury over the arranged—forced—marriage and she made the mistake of telling him to fuck off. She thought she could leave in defiance, but he force slammed her against the wall before she had even started to walk to the door.

Her arm was fractured. Her bruises were the first of many. She kept her disdain towards him in separated thoughts, despite his urgency for her to tell him. She didn’t need to give him a reason to break another bone.

She looks to the bathroom door, fingers still caressing the lumped skin of her scar. Although she already knows the answer, she wonders if he ever feels guilt.


	3. literature

III. _literature_

“Can I request a book?”

Her voice is soft as she asks him the question. She wasn’t like this before. So fragile. So timid. She used to be outgoing, able to get whatever she wanted through debate. But her current life won’t allow her to be herself. He’s out of the bathroom, shirtless and prepping to put on his robes. She finds it easier to ask favors when he isn’t covered in black and wearing that hideous mask.

“What book.”

“Just some mindless fiction. To ease my boredom…” Silence. She doesn’t have to look his way to know he’s watching her. “Please.” She keeps her head down, pretending to play with her fingers.

“I’ll send a droid in at noon.”

She finally glances up. “Thank you.”

Literature should be casual leisure for anyone, but even books have restrictions here. She remembers the first event she attended with him as husband and wife—a celebration of a First Order victory, she can't recall which as she hates thinking about the dictatorship that she’s associated with by marriage. It was a lavish event, filled with evil looking people in matching suits. No amount of makeup or expensive jewelry she wore could make her feel in place with those people. Those truly awful people.

Kylo was in full uniform and instantly swept away by his peers, leaving her standing awkwardly in an uncomfortable dress. She gravitated towards the library, sensing that books would be the one thing that could pass the unbearable time she had to spend there. Discovering that the library was filled with First Order propaganda sent her into a repulsion—how could such horrible people think so highly of themselves? She wanted to rip the pages out, wanted to burn them right in front of their eyes.

_And what do you think would happen if you did that?_

Hearing his voice in her head caused her to drop the book she was holding. She turned around, eyes searching for him, but she was alone in the library. His presence never ceased, no matter how hard she tried to push him out.


	4. control

IV. _control_

It isn’t strange for her to spend hours sitting under a constant stream of shower water. The bedroom, while large in dimension, quickly became claustrophobic as cabin fever set in for her at the end of the first month. Staring at the same concrete walls, sitting on the same leather couch, pacing around the same cold floor…she needed an escape. She found it in the bathroom, the only brightly lit area of the room with its usually bland fluorescent lights that provided the mental and physical light she’d felt she lost. 

The repetitive sound of water hitting marble blurred into a white noise that she found to be comforting. She didn’t have to think about present time, didn’t have to remember where she was or who she was married to, she could just embrace the noise that vaguely reminded her of her hometown surrounded by mountains and forests. If she thought hard enough, she could almost taste the rainwater that would hit her face in large droplets as if the fog of the mountains absorbed all of the water and let it fall to her town in slow motion.

In the back of her mind, she can hear footsteps. Heavy, demanding footsteps. She opens her eyes. He’s close. Part of her is grateful that his presence is so dominating because she has time to prepare herself, but knowing that he’s just minutes away sends her into a mild panic. He’s unpredictable—will he be angry? Will he take it out on her like he so often does? Her legs nearly buckle underneath her weight as she forces herself to stand up and turn the shower off. His presence is getting louder, she knows he’s right around the corner. She can hear every footstep, can hear the sound of the door opening, can even hear his breathing—then it’s silence.

She’s still trying to understand when and how he controls her. The last thing she always remembers is silence, a deafening silence as if she’s in an eternally empty space. Then her body does what he tells her to do. She feels herself walking out of the bathroom, tightly covered with a robe, and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed waiting for her. His mask is off, his expression unreadable. He reaches his hand out and she touches it, moving closer until she’s looking down at him. The only time she’ll ever be taller than him. She runs her fingers through his hair and it feels like something she would do if she had control of her actions and she’s left in another confusing limbo of whether or not these actions belong to her.

But nothing ever fully belongs to her now that she’s married to Kylo Ren.


	5. fleeting

V.  _fleeting_

His kindness is a rarity that she still finds questionable. It’s so out of character for him that she wonders if he’s playing mind games with her. Nonetheless, she accepts him with open arms, aware that her time with this version of him is limited. Kylo knows too, but he doesn’t seem hesitant to let go.

He doesn’t leave her bruised, doesn’t use aggression. Whereas she would shower him with kisses, he does it in return, taking her silence as surprise for his unexpected warmth. This is what a husband should do—make his wife smile, make her feel safe. Since their marriage, she can count on her fingers how many times he’s done this. He never speaks, just shows her how much he needs her through his actions—the lingering kisses on her bruises, the gentle hand holding, staring at her with this softness in his eyes as if he’s showing affection to apologize for hurting her for weeks on end.

She tries to keep the bitterness shut out during these moments, but it’s difficult. Her negative memories with him outweigh the positive, knowing that this moment is temporary and will be another distant thought to cling to doesn’t inspire hope from her. He can sense her ambivalence during but doesn’t convince her with his manipulation.

It would be easy, he does it almost daily that it’s become second nature to him. And while he does use physical force on her, he can’t find it in himself to use mental. There’s something refreshing about her conflicting thoughts on him; she wants to hate him, often thinks of how much she can’t stand him, but there’s still a part of her that longs for closeness. She wondered if it was really her stroking his hair, and it was. But he won’t tell her that. She’ll figure it out as her attachment towards him becomes realized.


	6. appearances

VI. _appearances_

The unannounced but expected knock of her assigned stylist shifts her thoughts to another part of her life that she has yet to adjust to, that is if she ever does. Another dress. Another event. Another appearance. The wife of Kylo Ren has been seen side by side with him a limited number of times since their vows, but an occasional gala is needed as a reminder. She doesn’t understand it. These people don’t care about her. They don’t even know her name. But she has no voice in the matter, even when it comes to choosing her outfit.

Her first experience with this stylist resulted in her holding back heated tears as she told her that she needed to lose weight—a feat that she quickly reached not due to diet, but depression. She can hardly keep herself steady as the expensive clothing weighs her down. All of her dresses are black with an occasional tinge of red; their lack of color and excitement parallels with her own thoughts on having to wear them and be seen wearing them.

Kylo doesn’t need to read her mind to know that she’s unhappy when she’s in this certain public. It’s unlikely that he’ll console her, but even he’s plagued with unease due to these mandatory events. She’ll never know it, underneath the helmet he’s masking his own expressions of loathing. He finds comfort in the fact that they’re both standing in despair together. It’s a bond that he wishes to share with her, but instead keeps hidden away like a memento. Hidden from her, hidden from Snoke—the latter of which would instantly disapprove. She isn’t supposed to be a distraction to him, rather a trophy. Or a puppet, like he told him the day before his marriage. 

She’s noticed that with every event, his presence is getting smaller; she’s accustomed to this often-unwanted mental connection that any lack of it has a jarring effect on her. Is he allowing her more freedom? She’s unsure, doesn’t know how to react to his changes except to take them as possible hints that he’s finally giving her some leverage.


	7. anger

VII.  _anger_

The gala should’ve been like every other First Order gathering—full of conversation and laughter while she found strained solitude in an empty room. His attention would be on the generals and admirals who’d rather discuss business instead of pleasure. Compared to the higher-ups who spend the entire time getting drunk on wine, she almost admired their commitment. Almost.

One particular drunkard wouldn’t leave her alone; she noticed him eyeing her as Kylo drifted away. She tried to be as friendly as she could convince herself to be, passively smiling and making indirect contact, but her cues were lost on him. A grab on her arm was all it took for her to respond with a slap. The previously chatty room fell to complete silence as the aftershock of the smack rang uncomfortably in the air. 

For a brief second, she felt herself smile. For a brief second, she was her old self. Not this manufactured version that she pretends to be to survive, but her true self that was never afraid of consequence. That moment ends as quickly as it begins when she feels Kylo staring daggers at her. Despite the helmet, she can vividly see his dark eyes in her mind. Then that all too familiar sensation of silence creeps up on her as she follows his mental command to leave the gathering and head to their room, him following closely behind in overbearing dominance.

The walk leaves her flushed with humiliation as she becomes aware of what just happened. Of what she just did. As soon as they enter the bedroom, she sputters out a trembling sorry—

“Don’t speak. Do not speak.”

“Kylo, ple—”

“I said don’t fucking speak!” He takes his helmet off and rams it at her, hitting her right in the stomach. “A wife with no manners? You’ve embarrassed me!”

“He wouldn’t le—” A slap across the face in return for hers. Then another one. Another one. Another one. Each harder than the last. She’s on the floor with a bloodied nose, he’s looking down at her with unavoidable anger, hand raised and forming into a fist.

Every hit makes the fact undeniable—she’s gotten too comfortable around him, she’s forgotten her place. The silent and passive wife of Kylo Ren should remain exactly that, but his openness has given her reason to act recklessly. But it’s his fault too—Snoke taught him to always maintain power, to always assert dominance. Instead, he’s gotten soft. Just as she’s forgotten her place, he’s forgotten his. An unspoken bond can only go so far when he’s the one who always has to be in control.


	8. isolation

VIII.  _isolation_

They haven’t spoken or seen each other since the incident. She’s on punishment, she knows this. No books, no leisure, no appearances. Her face is too bruised for the public eye, her body too sore. But everyone knows what happened. Awkward bystanders could hear her cries that night, he didn’t stop hitting her until a medical droid beeped loudly outside of their room, sensing her distress. He left her to presumably attend the rest of the gala, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.

As the droid whirred and scanned her broken skin, emptiness overcame her.

She’s never slipped this badly—not since the first time. The fractured arm should’ve been the wake-up call, the eternal reminder that the man she’s married to is a monster. No amount of fleeting kindness or romance can take away from that. She was right to be doubtful, but wrong to hold onto that naïve glimmer of hope. Sometimes she wonders what really goes on in his head but in the end, what does it matter? There’s no saving him. 

He doesn’t come to bed at night, doesn’t even come to the room. She’s lost track of counting the time, she has nothing to wait for. The only interaction she’s had is with the medical droid, this automated machine is more caring than her own husband. It’s pre-set to leave once she’s fully healed, but she’s quickly gotten into the habit of reopening her stitches just so it can stay longer. It won’t yell at her, it won’t hit her. She could use some comfort, even if it’s from a droid.

Despite her slow healing, she’s still broken. Physically. Mentally. She has to remain married to Kylo Ren, until his death or hers. She doubts that he’ll die in her lifetime. It has to be her.


	9. kylo

IX.  _kylo_

There’s a war in his mind, a neverending battle of extremes. Having to balance this task of leader and husband, when he should just be one. Snoke told this to him as well, being a husband is simply an extension of power, another way to remind others of his leadership.

Then why is he failing this seemingly effortless task? He’s only conflicted after he hurts her, but how else will he express his frustration towards her? It was so thoughtless of her to slap that man—a recently promoted general. But despite his anger with her, he was furious at him. What kind of person would he look like if he didn’t punish them both? A weak husband _and_ weak leader? Never. 

The general was still a drunken rambling mess by the time Kylo returned, thus had no preparation for the invisible gloved hands that wrapped themselves around his neck and continued to tighten as Kylo walked closer to him. He left his helmet in the room, wanting the man to look him in the eye as he drained him of breath, a fatal reminder that his wife belongs to him and only him. He drops his lifeless body to the floor, the thud loud and echoing in the room that mostly cleared out. The few who remained stared in shock, but didn’t dare to let a breath escape until Kylo left the scene, demanding that someone dispose of the general’s dead body.

In what should’ve been a victorious moment, he wanted nothing more than to embrace her. He knew he couldn’t. Her cries were painfully clear as he stood outside of their bedroom, she didn’t stop until early next morning. Her distress haunted him. He didn’t have to hit her that hard, didn’t have to make her bleed, but it was a lesson taught to him by Snoke.

But his teacher hadn’t prepared him for this—the constant urgency that he would rarely act on to comfort her. His form of an apology. Just as he didn’t hesitate lashing out in anger, he didn’t hesitate in those brief moments of affection he shared with her, the only time her body didn’t completely reject him. Before, there was a chance that she’d actually believe him but he has a lingering worry that now she never will.

And that kills him.


	10. euphoria (him + her)

X. _euphoria (him + her)_

She’s made up her mind when he returns. The encounter is awkward, he doesn’t want to peer into her thoughts but her expression is unreadable. He’s instantly reminded of himself and how she would question what he’s thinking when he pulled the same remorseless stare, now he finds himself in her position, questioning, wondering. She watches him as he sits next to her, eyes trailing his, quickly assessing the damage he did to her. The shades of purple stand out against her skin, but the offset yellow of nearly recovered bruises from previous incidents are even more jarring. 

“I shouldn’t have done this,” he starts, reaching out for her arm only for her to flinch away. He doesn’t try again.

She stares at him in hardened but restrained anger, her emotion finally peeking through, unable to believe these words he’s trying to equate into an apology. He’s giving her the opportunity to speak but she doesn’t take it, letting her silence respond for her.

“I killed him.” Her head snaps back in his direction. “I killed him for you.”

“For me?” Her voice is raspy with disbelief, almost ready to break out into a laugh. “You killed him for yourself.”

This time he’s the one staring back, holding in that instant fury that he so often acts on. She can tell, but instead of closing her eyes and bracing for a fist against her face, she speaks up again.

“Why don’t you kill me too?” The question takes him off guard—how could she think that?

“You shouldn’t hold back what you are,” she responds as if she’s read his mind. “What am I to you, anyway?”

“You’re my wife.”

A shrug from her. “By arrangement. We don’t love each other.”

“I—” He stops himself. What can he say? She knows he doesn’t know how to love, how to care. Murdering as a declaration of it isn’t affection—it’s cold vengeance.

She stands to her feet, heading towards the bathroom. “Can you send another medical droid? I need some pain relievers.”

All he can do is nod, and she closes the door.

 

_him—_

The damage is beyond repair. He’s never seen her like this—so vacant, lifeless. Is this how she feels when he shows her emptiness in return? Even her conflicting thoughts brought him a sense of comfort—at least he knew she _felt_ something, now he can’t feel anything from her. The medical droid beeps outside of their room and he stands to leave, the air of rejection too strong for him to handle. It would be easy for him to lash out, expected. But that’s what the problem is—it’s what he fails to control. How can he gain her trust again when it was never really there? Teetering, on the fence, as faint as possible due to false hope.

If he consumes himself with work, he might be able to divert his attention from her, but he has doubts. Nearly everyone walks the opposite direction or avoids his presence as he makes his way through the base, the aftermath of the general’s death still too fresh, along with his new decision to not wear his helmet. His eyes are intent but his emotions are scrambled. He can hardly pay attention when he approaches lowly combat workers for an update on their status.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can sense her. He can feel the wind of her hometown brushing his face, can hear the crackling of tree branches from a nervous deer, can taste how fresh the air is. He’s never felt her think of her hometown in such depth, there’s a comfort in it that he finds eerie. As quickly as it began, it ends, fading away like a lost dream. Then it’s gone. Just like that. What happened?

He stumbles away, alarming the workers around him. But he can’t see them. He’s looking for her. Where did she go? Why did she disappear so quickly? He practically runs to their bedroom, mouth open with her name on his lips. The couch is empty, the bed is empty, the bathroom door is still closed. He knocks on it, a common courtesy he didn’t realize he had.

No answer.

“Layla—” He says her name, sudden worry rising in his voice. He doesn’t knock again. She’s in the shower, body limp and leaning against the wall, a crimson red trail following the water down the drain. “No—Layla—what did you do?!” He’s frantic, gets on his knees to cradle her, grabs her wrists to apply pressure on them.

He yells for a droid, yells for any kind of help, but between his pleas he can’t stop asking the same question—Layla, what did you do? Why did you do this? He knows why. This is his fault. He drove her to this.

An on-site doctor arrives and Kylo has lost his voice. He doesn’t want to let her go, her fragile body like a ragdoll against his chest. The doctor has to instruct him to bring her to bed; they have to stop her bleeding.

 

_her —_

It was euphoria. She was home again, she was free, a weightless light with an indescribable high. And yet, she couldn’t get his voice out of her mind, out of her paradise. Panicked and hurting, she felt a tinge of pain hearing his. She hates herself for even thinking of him. Why can’t she just erase him? She’s so close, could move on right now but something is holding her back. She’s holding herself back. Her thoughts in conflict again, fighting each other—stay or leave, dark or light.

In the end, the choice isn’t hers. She couldn’t make up her mind, so they did for her. He did. Kylo. As the weight travels back to her body in waves, the endless apology from him becomes alarmingly real. He’s never said sorry to her before, never acknowledged his fault. So what is this? Another game?

“It’s not a game.”

Her eyes open to the sound of his voice. Reality. He stares at her, his expression a combination of sadness and relief. His face and hair are damp, a tear trail leading to his chin. Who is this man? This isn’t her husband. His eyebrows furrow in unease, a plea to believe that yes, this is your husband. Believe me. Believe me.

“Please believe me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys :) Thanks for reading. I decided to end on a long chapter as a thank you for sticking with this story. I’ve wanted to write this for a while so I’m glad it’s gotten a positive response. I do have some ideas for a possible continuation with Kylo and Layla's story so if you want to read that, let me know.


End file.
